


It's a New Kind of Empty

by FayeHunter



Series: Bloodied Up In A Bar Fight [2]
Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol references, Fighting, M/M, Slight homophobic language, ashton is drunk and gets into a bar fight, bar fighting, blood mention, post breakup, with the hope of a second chance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-13 18:40:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29033322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FayeHunter/pseuds/FayeHunter
Summary: "Ashton’s a good five drinks in when he thinks that maybe this wasn’t his best idea. Of course, Ashton is well on his way to being drunk at this point, so the idea is incredibly unhelpful. In the hazy lights of the bar, music pounding around him and people shouting, he thinks that maybe this is the reason Luke broke up with him in the first place."Or Ashton hasn't been doing well since his breakup with Luke. He gets an unexpected second chance.
Relationships: Luke Hemmings/Ashton Irwin
Series: Bloodied Up In A Bar Fight [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2144676
Comments: 6
Kudos: 33





	It's a New Kind of Empty

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lifewasradical](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifewasradical/gifts).



> This is dedicated to [Amanda](https://lifewasradical.tumblr.com/). She loves The Wonder Years and Aaron West and showed me them. We were listening to "Bloodied Up in a Bar Fight," and I said "ashton song?" and well. I wrote this for this song and for her. Amanda, I love you and I love our music nights and our fic nights and I just. I don't have the words to describe how much I love you so I hope this gift will do. I hope everyone enjoys this. 
> 
> Title obviously from Bloodied Up in a Bar Fight by Aaron West and The Roaring Twenties.

Ashton’s a good five drinks in when he thinks that maybe this wasn’t his best idea. Of course, Ashton is well on his way to being drunk at this point, so the idea is incredibly unhelpful. In the hazy lights of the bar, music pounding around him and people shouting, he thinks that maybe this is the reason Luke broke up with him in the first place. He’s a drunk, miserable, sitting in this bar day after day mourning the end of his relationship with Luke. The only reason he’s not here everyday is because he’s not stupid; he alternates his time between here, another bar a little further away, and drinking himself into a stumpor on his own couch, crying until he falls asleep and does it all over again the next day. He feels like a ghost the last month, but at least ghosts have a purpose. Ashton’s horrified to discover that without band responsibilities and without boyfriend responsibilities he doesn’t know who he is anymore. He’s just someone taking up space, existing in the world without _actually_ existing.

It’s been a month. It’s been a whole 31 days since he and Luke broke up, or rather, since Luke decided he wanted to end the relationship. Although, that implies that Ashton didn’t have a hand in this either. One year of dating, of building their life together, _gone_. All because Luke wanted to come out to the world, tell everyone that they were dating, together, happy, and Ashton just...couldn’t. He doesn’t like sharing his life with the world, likes having some form of privacy, just isn’t ready for that. They’d gone round and round in circles, tense and angry, until they’d finally broken and Luke had snapped that maybe they shouldn’t be together at all if Ashton wasn’t ready for it. Ashton had snapped back that maybe they should if Luke wouldn’t respect Ashton’s wishes and all it had taken was a few harsh, cruel words, designed to hurt, for the two of them to call it quits. Ashton hasn’t seen Luke since then, took all his shit with him that night and went back to his place. Ashton doesn’t want to be the first one to reach out, can’t bring himself to call Luke and Luke hasn’t reached out either. It’s been a tense month of avoidance, dancing around the subject with Michael and Calum when prompted. 

Which leads Ashton to here, sitting at a bar, nursing his misery in yet another glass of tequila. It makes him sadder, drinking the thing he knows Luke enjoys, but Ashton can’t bring himself to stop. He wants to get drunk and he wants to forget and he wants to drink enough that maybe the pain will stop. It’s become horrifying that without Luke, Ashton doesn’t know how to structure his life. Even before they were dating, so much of Ashton’s life revolved around the band and Luke. They haven’t really spend a day apart since fucking 2011. It’s like a severed limb, having to survive without Luke, not being able to text Luke, tell Luke about his day, share music with him. Ashton’s not sure the pain will ever go away, doesn’t know what he’ll do when they actually have to do promo for the album, go to interviews, go on tour. Having to see Luke everyday, but not being able to touch him, hold him, kiss him. 

Ashton knocks back the rest of his drink, tries to wave down the bartender to order another drink. He knows he’ll have to argue with the man for it, knows he’s too far gone to actually have another drink, but Ashton’s _tired._ He’s miserable and he’s tried and he just wants to forget. 

To add to Ashton’s misery, the music at the bar changes, the opening bass of _Youngblood_ filtering out through the speakers. Ashton tries to hold back the sob that threatens to leave his chest at the sound of Luke’s voice surrounding him. Ashton’s been purposely avoiding listening to any of their music, knows that if he hears Luke’s voice he’ll really lose it. Ashton’s not prepared to hear it now, drunk and miserable. He wants so badly to take out his phone and text Luke, telling him he’s listening to their song in the bar, but he can’t for many reasons. Ashton’s not supposed to be even drinking. He was doing so good before the break up, actually getting sober, learning to cope in other ways that didn’t involve alcohol. Fucking lot of good that’s done him. Luke will hate to hear that Ashton’s even in a bar, if he doesn’t hate the fact that Ashton’s calling him at all. 

“This song is shit. Can’t they play some good music,” a man next to Ashton grumbles to his friends. His friends all laugh. Ashton tries not to take it personally. They’ve been hearing that since they started playing, heard enough jokes about being emos and a boyband and any number of things people have said over the years that Ashton’s used to it. He just wishes he didn’t have to listen to it on top of all the other shit. 

“Lead singer sounds like shit. Bet it’s all autotuned.”

“God he’s so whiny. Didn’t they used to tour with that other group of guys? The ones all the girls used to scream about?”

“Fucking boyband. Can’t play their instruments, can’t sing. They’re only famous cause they’re pretty,” the first guy sneers, taking another drink. Ashton tightens his hand around his empty glass, trying to tamper down the anger in his chest. He’s used to hearing this over and over again and he thinks it must be his drunken state that’s making him angrier than usual. Yet another reason why Luke probably decided to end them; Ashton’s an angry drunk who can’t come out to the world.

“If you’re into that. Bunch of fucking pussies. Gay pussies.”

“Whiny, gay pussies. Didn’t they used to call themselves emo?”

“If you could even call it that. Besides, the only pretty one is that lead singer.”

“That’s cause he’s gay. Wearing makeup? Gay,” the guy says. His friends all laugh. Ashton feels the anger in his chest. He can put up with a lot of things, can put up with the criticism of the band and their music, but he can’t listen to people talk shit about Luke. Luke, who’s grown so much over the years, both sonically and personally. Grown into himself, comfortable in his body, in being able to dress how he wants, be who he wants. Luke, who’s taken vocal lessons and practiced over and over again to get to his skill level. He’s worked so hard and these assholes are going to say it’s autotune and call Luke gay because he likes to wear makeup. 

“Fuck you!” Ashton shouts, turning to the men. They startle, turning to Ashton, surprised at the outburst. 

“What the fuck is your problem dude?”

“You can’t just say that shit! What, cause someone wears makeup they’re gay?”

“Well, if the shoe fits,” the guy says, snorting. Ashton reacts before he can think about it, swinging a fist at the guy. Ashton’s not sure who’s more surprised when his fist catches the guy on the jaw, the guy, Ashton, his friends or the bartender. Ashton doesn’t have time to think about it, the guy immediately swinging back and hitting Ashton the nose. He can hear the crunch, feels the immediate sting of a broken nose and the blood starting to drip down his face. Ashton gives a yell, takes another swing. He can hear the group of guys yelling, hears the bartender shouting, feels someone yanking them apart. It doesn’t stop Ashton from trying to give another good kick, getting another fist to the face, catching his eye this time.

Ashton’s fuzzy about what happens next. He knows the bartender is forcibly trying to drag Ashton and the other guy apart, yelling at them about calling the cops. Ashton’s whole face aches, blood dripping down his face, eye sore, head aching from the impact and the alcohol. God he’s a real fucking mess. If only Luke could see him now, Ashton thinks bitterly, when the cops finally show up, carting him and the other guy off. Ashton’s at least satisfied that he managed to get one good punch in, sees the guy’s jaw is black and blue. He might be a drunk getting arrested, but at least he stood up for Luke. Luke doesn’t deserve to be made fun of when he can’t defend himself. At the very least Ashton can do that. 

Ashton finds himself at the police station, floating in and out of it on the drive over. The cop is shaking his head at him, mumbling something about kids and their attitudes. Ashton’s never been handcuffed before. It’s an entirely new experience. God, he’s going to have to explain this to the band. Why he’s been arrested, why he’s got a record now. He’s going to get three disappointed band member looks at the next meeting. Ashton groans, hand dropping back against the chair the cop’s left him in. They’ve taken his phone and his wallet, taken his fingerprints, made him wait while they run the information. He can vaguely hear them talking, trying to decide what to change him and the other guy with. Ashton takes a shaky breath, wincing when he feels his nose throb on the inhale. Ashton’s never broken his nose before, but he imagines this must be what it feels like.Wonderful. Now he’s going to have to explain why his nose is broken, if the gossip sites online aren’t already running stories about how the drummer of 5 Seconds of Summer is getting into bar fights and getting arrested.

The cop comes back, sighing heavily as he sits down at the desk across from Ashton. Ashton tilts his head up, making eye contact with the man across from him. He just looks tired, like he’s gotta deal with guys like Ashton, drunk and disorderly, all the time.

“Mr. Irwin.”

“Yes?”

“You’re very lucky that the man you punched doesn’t want to press charges. We managed to explain to him that since you were both fighting, you would both be at fault here. Since it looks like it’s just bruises and your nose, there’s nothing serious that you could be charged with. You will be charged for drunk and disorderly. We can either hold you overnight until you sober up or you can call someone,” he says, looking expectantly at Ashton.

Ashton’s brain stalls. He can’t call Michael or Calum. If he calls either of them, he’ll have to explain why he can’t call Luke. He’ll have to explain why he’s drunk and sitting in a police station with a broken nose. They’ll ask why he didn’t call Luke. They’ll want to know why he was at a bar if he’s supposed to be sober. Calum will sigh heavily and Michael will snap at him. Ashton doesn’t want to deal with that, have to talk about the end of his relationship on top of getting into a bar fight because someone called Luke gay. Besides, he doesn’t know either of their numbers without his phone. 

It really hits Ashton then that he only knows Luke’s number. Luke’s phone number is the only number that Ashton knows by heart. Even after all this time, the only person that Ashton depends on is Luke. He can call Luke and deal with having to listen to him bitch at Ashton or having him not pick up the phone or Ashton can spend the night here and go home in the morning. Ashton doesn’t want to call Luke, listen to the hurt and disappointment in his voice, but Ashton really doesn’t want to sit here overnight, not when his head hurts and his nose hurts and his eye hurts and he just wants to go home and cry.

“I can call someone,” Ashton says. The cop nods, hands his desk phone over to Ashton, watches him punch the number in. The phone rings once, twice and Ashton thinks _Luke’s not going to pick up, it’s late, he’s asleep, maybe he’s out somewhere having fun without me, he doesn’t need me_ when he hears the line click.

“Hello?” Luke’s voice filters through the line. It’s rough and Ashton’s heart sinks. He knows that rough sound that’s in Luke’s voice. It’s not sleep rough. It’s rough and watery, the sound Luke’s voice makes when he’s been crying, hoarse and exhausted. Ashton wants to ask about it, comfort Luke when he remembers he can’t do that anymore. They’re broken up. It’s not his place to ask Luke about how he’s doing. Coupled with the fact that the cop in front of him is looking at him expectantly, waiting for Ashton to let the man on the other line know what’s going on.

“Who is this?” Luke asks again.

“Ashton. It’s Ashton.”

“Ashton? Where are you calling from?”

“A police station.”

“What?” Luke asks, panic clear in his voice. Ashton swallows.

“Yeah I got arrested? At a bar? For starting a fight?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?”

“Telling you.”

“Fuck. Do you know where?” Luke says after a moment’s pause. 

“I’m not sure. I don’t remember much.”

“Of course not,” Luke says, hallowly.

“Luke, I know you’re pissed at me. I know we need to talk, but I’m drunk and I’m sitting in a police station and I just need someone to pick me up.”

Luke’s silent on the other line. He’s so quiet that Ashton thinks he might have hung up. It’s only when he hears the slow intake of breath that he realizes Luke’s still there.

“Can you put the officer on?” he asks. Ashton nods and then remembers that Luke can’t see him, mumbles a yes as he passes over the phone. The officer exchanges some words with Luke, gives him an address and the information he needs, and hangs up.

“Your friend said he’s coming. I have to put you in the cell under then.”

“Right,” Ashton says, nodding. He lets the cop take him over, opens the cell door and ushers Ashton in. He sits on the bench in the cell, watching as the cop leaves, locking the cell behind him. He crosses over to his desk, pulling a tissue out of the box and hands it to Ashton through the bars.

“Here. For your nose.”

“Thanks,” Ashton says, taking it and trying to wipe at the dried blood on his nose. It stings trying to clean it off and Ashton eventually gives up, leaning his head back against the wall and sighing. This was the exact kind of shit Ashton was trying to avoid. By going public, they would have opened themselves up to ridicule and jokes about their sexuality, their music, their appearance. They would have had to listen to all these articles about how their music is about each other, had to listen to all the slurs people would call them. No one would take them seriously as musicians. Ashton didn’t want to come out because he didn’t want to have to listen to it, have the nasty words said about them, written about them. Although, they’re not even out and look at what happened. Ashton and Luke didn’t even need to come out to have some guys in a bar make fun of them. There’s still articles about how they’re terrible musicians, still men in bars who call them a boyband. Ashton had to go and ruin his happiness just to keep going through the same thing he always thought he would. 

Ashton closes his eyes, trying to stop the tears from coming. His head is starting to pound. His whole face hurts. He’s tired and he just wants to go home. Ashton’s not even sure Luke will come get him. Maybe he should just sleep here for the night and cut his losses. Accept that he’s alone and unwanted.

Ashton’s busy wallowing in his misery for an undetermined amount of time, listening to the weather report on the TV when he hears the door to the station open and hears a shuffle of feet. Ashton cracks an eye open, floored when he realizes it’s Luke. Luke standing at the desk in front, shuffling nervously. He’s wearing sweatpants and a hoodie, hair pulled up into a bun. Ashton hasn’t seen him in a month and he’s so taken aback looking at Luke. His hair looks greasy. His eyes have dark circles under them, the clear sign that Luke hasn’t been sleeping well. They’re red too and so is the tip of his nose. Ashton frowns. That’s the sign Luke’s been crying. Luke looks broken and worn down, shoulders slumped. Ashton expected many things, but a sad, small, broken looking Luke wasn’t one of them.

“Hi, I’m here for Ashton Irwin,” Luke says to the cop at the desk. Ashton can’t take his eyes off Luke, still trying to catch his breath seeing Luke, seeing that he’s come to get Ashton. That even with all this going on, with their breakup, Luke’s _here._ Ashton watches the shuffle of paperwork, of Luke filling out the forms. He looks tired and world weary, shoulders heavy as he signs something. 

The cop comes to get Ashton, unlocks the jail cell, tugs him out and over to where Luke is waiting. Ashton can’t read his expression, Luke’s face blank and he puts a hand on Ashton’s elbow, watches as Ashton takes back his phone and his wallet, mumbles a thank you to the officer. 

“He just needs some rest. And less liquor. My daughter’s a big fan. He’s lucky to have a friend like you,” he says, nodding at Luke. Luke smiles ruthlessly, smile wooden.

“Yeah. Something like that,” he says, tugging Ashton out the doors of the station and over to his car. Ashton gets the passenger door open, gets into the car and watches Luke slam the door, round the car to the driver side. He gets in, starting the car, and pulls out of the station parking lot.

“You look like shit,” Luke says at the first red light. Ashton glances over, sees that Luke’s staring straight ahead, voice void of emotion.

“Feel like shit,” Ashton mumbles, reaching up to touch his nose, wincing when he pokes at it.

“Good,” Luke says, bitter venom in his voice. It shocks Ashton, the harsh song in Luke’s voice, the way he’s gripping the steering wheel. 

“You don’t have to be rude.” 

“You called me at close to 3:00am to tell me that you were arrested for fighting. In a bar. I think I’m allowed to be rude.” 

“Well you didn’t have to come.” 

“I wasn’t going to leave you there. You’re still my best friend, even after everything. I can’t just not pick you up.” 

“Thank you,” Ashton whispers, staring down at his pants, picking at a loose thread. He hears Luke sigh heavily next to him.

“What were you even doing getting into fights anyway? At a bar? I thought you were sober.” 

“Well I was until you broke my heart.” 

“Don’t pretend the break is all my fault.”

“You’re the one who ended it!” Ashton yells, hot with fury. He’ll put up with a lot, but he won’t tolerate Luke pretending like Ashton’s the sole reason they’re not together anymore. 

“Because you wouldn’t listen to me! You never want to listen to me! The great Ashton Irwin can’t be bothered to consider anything his boyfriend says or wants because he knows best.” 

“Ex-boyfriend.” 

“Fuck you,” Luke snaps. Ashton lets out a frustrated growl, wincing when pain shoots through his face. He doesn’t miss the way Luke’s face drops, worry and concern etched in his features until he remembers himself, masks his emotions perfectly after years of PR training. 

“I did listen to you. I got sober.” 

“Clearly not.” 

“I was sober for a whole 3 months after we weren’t on tour. I was getting better. You asked me to try because you were worried about me and I did.” 

“Stop bullshitting me Ashton. You were in a bar tonight.” 

“I was fine until a month ago.” 

“Oh really?” 

“Yes! I was clean and sober until a month ago when you fucking broke my heart. I was getting better and then we broke up.” 

“Nice, Ashton. Blame me for your drunk and disorderly behavior.” 

“I’m not blaming you!” 

“It sure sounds like you are.” 

“Well, maybe I didn’t want to think anymore. Maybe I didn’t want to wake up everyday and have my first thought be that I didn’t have you anymore. Maybe I wanted to stop thinking about you every waking fucking moment. Fat lot of fucking good that did me. Considering the fight,” Ashton mumbles the last part, hoping Luke doesn’t hear him. 

“What?” 

“Hm?” 

“What does the fight have to do with me?” 

“ _Youngblood_ came on at the bar and the guy insulted it. Called us a boyband. Said we couldn’t sing, it’s all autotune. Called you gay.” 

“That’s why you punched the guy? Ashton that’s hardly the first time anyone has said that.” 

“Yeah but I just...I couldn’t let him say those things. You’ve worked so hard to get to this level of comfort with yourself and your body and your voice. Who is he to say shit like that?” Ashton says, turning to Luke, pleading with him to understand. Luke’s quiet, face a little surprised. 

“You said the whole reason you didn’t want to come out was because of what people might say.” 

“Clearly, it never mattered,” Ashton says. He’s tired, fight leaving his body, drained from the night’s events. Luke’s pensive in the driver’s seat, clenching and unclenching his hands. They spend the rest of the drive in silence, Ashton surprised when they pull up to Luke’s house. 

“I don’t want to leave you alone tonight. You need someone to make sure you didn’t hurt your head and to look at your nose. Besides, Petunia misses you,” Luke says, cheeks red at the admission. It makes Ashton a little soft, thinking about the idea that Petunia misses Ashton. He’s missed Petunia, missed her snores and being able to cuddle with her, taking her on walks. Ashton hadn’t realized how much he missed it until he didn’t have it anymore. Just another thing in the long list of things he can’t do without Luke. 

Ashton follows Luke up the stairs to his front door, watching as Luke unlocks it, realizing that Ashton still has the key to Luke’s house on the key ring in his pocket. It hurts Ashton, realizing that he’s going to have to give it back, the final nail in the coffin of their relationship. 

Luke gets the door open, holding it so Ashton can follow him inside. Ashton kicks his shoes off at the door, remembers that Luke doesn’t like shoes on in the house. Petunia’s nowhere to be found, probably already asleep on Luke’s bed, like the princess she is. 

“Come on, let me clean you up,” Luke says, taking Ashton’s hand and guiding him up the stairs of his house to his bathroom. Ashton goes, letting Luke lead him into it, watches Luke flip the toilet lid closed, sits down on it when Luke gestures to it. Luke leaves the bathroom, comes back with a washcloth. He flips the sink on, warms up the water before wetting the towel. He comes over to Ashton, bending down, taking Ashton’s jaw in his hand. Gently, Luke starts to wipe at the blood on his nose, tutting when he gets a look at it and Ashton’s eye. 

“Looks like it’s broken. And you have a black eye too. They really did a number on you.” 

“Good thing we don’t have press coming up. Although, might be fun to have to explain that I got beat up defending your honor. I’d be a hero.” 

“My knight in shining armor,” Luke teases. He looks surprised at the words, glancing down and continuing on his mission. Ashton’s surprised too, at the easy sound of the joke, that even now, after all this, they can still fall into this pattern, this teasing, this love. 

“Worth it,” Ashton mumbles, wincing when Luke rubs at a hard spot. 

“I can’t believe you punched someone because they insulted me. We’ve heard worse.” 

“But it’s you. I couldn’t just let them say that.” 

“Well, thank you. For defending me.” 

Ashton shrugs, “Had to make drinking worthwhile somehow.” 

“What happened? You were doing so well,” Luke whispers. Ashton sighs, heavy, tugging at his lungs. 

“I couldn’t do it. I didn’t realize how much of myself, of my life, was structured around you, around us until you weren’t there. I kept waking up and realizing you weren’t there. I wanted to text you, to talk to you, and I couldn’t. You were so much a part of my life, even before we were together, and then we were dating and I just...I don’t know what to do without you there, without you in reach. I keep seeing things in the world I want to share with you and I can’t anymore. I didn’t know what to say or what to do to bridge the gap. I just wanted to talk to you, to see you and I couldn’t. I don’t know who I am without you there and I kept drinking. I kept drinking to forget, to numb it all, to pretend for a moment I would wake up and you would be there again. It’s not fixing the problem but god, did it help me forget,” Ashton says, confession hanging in the silence of the air. He feels naked and vulnerable, heart on his sleeve in the wake of his admission that Ashton can’t be without Luke.

“I haven’t slept in a month,” Luke says quietly. He’s staring down at Ashton’s lap, where their hands are joined. There’s tears clinging to his eyelashes, eyes red ringed. 

“What?” 

“I haven’t slept in a month. 4 weeks I haven’t been able to sleep through the night. Everytime I try to go to bed, I can’t. It’s too empty, too cold. I can’t get comfortable. And then by the time I fall asleep, I keep waking up with nightmares. Except you’re not there to comfort me, so I just stare at the ceiling until my body just gives up. I keep crying. I keep crying and I think my body can’t make anymore tears and then I see something that reminds me of you and I start crying again. I can’t talk to my mum or Michael or Calum because I can’t bring myself to say the words out loud, like if I speak them into existence then they’re real and I can’t take it back. I structured so much of my days around you, that I find myself wanting to text you things or turning to you on the couch or calling your name and realizing you aren’t here anymore. I tried to walk Petunia yesterday, but she was wearing the collar you got her for Christmas and I spent the day crying on the floor in my bedroom because I kept thinking that we won’t have that again. I can’t figure out who I am anymore when I’m not your best friend, your boyfriend. You keep acting like you’re the only one hurting here, but so am I, Ashton.” 

“You broke up with me,” Ashton says, dumbfounded at Luke’s confession, that he’s been bleeding out day by day just as badly as Ashton’s been. 

“I didn’t break up with you because I didn’t love you anymore. I broke up with you because you refused to try and at least be public with me. You wanted to keep hiding us, hiding who we are, and I couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t be some dirty secret anymore. I want to hold your hand in public and kiss your cheek during shows. I want to get up on stage and tell everyone that you’re my boyfriend and we’re in love. I want to talk about moving in without worrying what people will think of us. I wanted to be able to discuss the future with you, without feeling like you wanted to hide anything we ever did. I just wanted to have you, openly and completely. I wanted to love you, so everyone could see. You didn’t even want to listen to me. And I still miss you so much, I love you so much, I don’t know what to do,” Luke says, sniffling. Ashton lets out a sad sound, squeezing Luke’s hand, forcing him to look up at Ashton. 

“I don’t like being public. I don’t like feeling like we’re being watched, judged. I don’t like adding another reason to the list of why people don’t like us. I hated the idea of subjecting the band, you, _us_ to ridicule and mockery. But it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t fucking matter. I made myself miserable and there’s still guys in bars insulting us and calling us names. I thought I could save myself the pain if I didn’t go public, but all I did was make myself miserable, make us both miserable. I ruined us and I can’t fix us and I don’t know what to do anymore. I don’t know who I am anymore. And I don’t deserve you, I don’t deserve you after everything, but I love you. I love you and I want to _try_. I want to try again and again, I want to make it up to you, show you I love you,” Ashton says. He’s crying now, sobbing wrecking him. His whole face hurts, but he doesn’t care, tears streaming down his face as he cries and cries. Luke’s not better, nose snotty and tear tracks on his cheeks as he cries too, shoulders shaking. Ashton tugs on his hands, pulling him up from his kneeling position and into his arms, Luke bent in half to return the hug, face buried into Ashton’s shoulder as he cries and cries. 

Eventually, they both run out of tears, bodies drained from the evening, from their confessions. They stay like that, locked in their awkward embrace until Luke pulls back, sniffling, wiping at his face with the sleeve of his hoodie. Ashton reaches up, trying to wipe the tears from his cheeks. Luke laughs, wet, and some of the tension eases in Ashton’s chest. If Luke’s laughing, it can’t be all bad. There has to still be some hope. 

“I can’t have this conversation with you right now. It’s so late and you’re still drunk and in pain and neither of us is emotionally ready to have this conversation. But if you stay, we can shower, I can make breakfast, and we can talk about it? I can make French toast,” Luke says. Ashton laughs. 

“You mean, the only thing you can make is French toast.” 

“Oh fuck off,” Luke says, but he’s smiling slightly. Ashton takes Luke’s hand, interlocks their fingers. 

“I would love to spend the night. I would love to have breakfast with you and watch you cook and walk Petunia in the morning and talk. I would love to _talk_.” 

“Good. That’s...good,” Luke says, nodding slightly. Ashton smiles back, relief flooding his body. He’s tired and drained, but the idea that Luke wants to give them a chance is _something._

“Do you want me to stay in the guest room? I’ll need some clothing.” 

“I have some old things of yours. Would you...um...sleep with me? In my bed?” Luke whispers, face red. Ashton beams, very nearly crying again at the admission. 

“I would love to. There’s nothing I want to do more,” he whispers back. Luke smiles and it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but his dimples are evident and his eyes are shining and it looks an awful lot like hope. It feels an awful lot like hope, like second chances, like Ashton’s just narrowly avoided missing out on something important that he’s had the chance to win back. He can win back Luke’s love, he’ll make sure he can deserve it. 

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on [tumblr!](https://pixiegrl.tumblr.com/) Talk to me about Stardust, 5sos, Luke Hemmings, or you can sidetrack me by giving me more fic ideas!


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